Page 86 of Our Daughter's Bones

“They,” Mackenzie muttered.

“What?”

“It’s not one person. The logo stands for stages of man andbrotherhood. It’s more than one person. Like Nick said. A sick cult.”

“Well, shit,” Sully raised his hands in surrender. “Why do you think they targeted Erica? The first two girls have no roots. The third girl is the most famous girl in town.”

“For attention,” Nick replied. “They’re upping their game.”

“So, they’re getting more out of control. Great. I have no idea how I’m going to explain this to Peck. Find out what this 916 is exactly. We have that paper napkin. Tell Anthony to analyze every fiber of it if he has to.”

“What will happen to Agent St. Clair?” Mackenzie crossed her arms.

“I’ve had to alert his supervisor at the Bureau,” Sully sighed. “He’s going to fly to Chicago tonight to convince his bosses to let him stay on.”

“Isn’t Murphy in charge?”

“Murphy has the final say, Mack. But I think he’ll want Daniel. Ever since the FBI got involved, the mayor has stopped pressuring our office, which means Samuel Perez is content. For now.”

“He lied to us. We can’t trust him.”

“He’s just a consultant.”

She released a long-drawn breath in irritation, when Sully pressed further. “Mack, you heard the guy. He’s trying to find out what happened to his sister.”

“He derailed an investigation. That’s the bottom line.”

“It’s out of my hands.”

As Mackenzie followed Nick outside, she turned back to catch a glimpse of Sully brooding. She had left a lot of things unsaid. A string of high-profile burglaries conveniently drew away attention from first Daphne’s disappearance and then Chloe’s disappearance, and stopped anyone linking them. Then there was Lieutenant Peck: the man who’d provided the Tacoma PD with an abridged version of Daphne’s case file, and the man who’d ordered Chloe’s case to be closed.

Sometimes things slip.

But sometimes things were buried and distorted. A good lie was easier to believe than the truth. She couldn’t shake off the feeling that something sinister was bubbling under. A whisper she couldn’t shush.

Who could she trust?

Forty-Six

September 22

The glare from the computer screen made Mackenzie’s eyes ache. Three anchors sat around a coffee table, looking glamorous and chatting about the latest gossip in an animated fashion. Mackenzie rarely indulged in Hollywood news. The next video recommended to her was something along the lines of how the Perez Industries stock was falling. Mackenzie clicked the video playing to expand it to full screen instead. She needed a break—just a moment to empty her mind before she threw herself back in.

But soon she registered a word being used often:divorce. The salacious rumors of a famous Hollywood couple calling it quits was doing the rounds and giving the anchors something to beam about.

Mackenzie fell into a trance.

Divorce.

There was nothing more real-life than divorce. Marriage was naive. Loving and living with one person for the rest of your life was a fantasy. It was a gamble. It was like jumping off a cliff hoping that there was the slightest chance that you’d make it without broken bones. Because people change, as do circumstances. If no one is changing, then no one is growing. If no one is growing, then what is the point of life? What are the chances that people can grow and still be compatible years later?

Divorce made sense. It felt like an inevitable consequence.

Mackenzie stared at her phone. Sterling hadn’t messaged her. She clutched it tightly in her fist. She knew she had overreacted; she didn’t even remember why they had fought the night before. But she believed that he should feel guilty for betraying her. She had hoped his guilt would allow her some liberties.

“Ready?” Nick asked.

“Huh?”